


Stereo Days

by MyMisguidedFairytale



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Camaraderie, Canon Compliant, Comfort Food, F/M, Festivals, Multi, One Shot, Politics, Pre-Canon, Short & Sweet, meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 14:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18701872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMisguidedFairytale/pseuds/MyMisguidedFairytale
Summary: After a particularly tiresome meeting, Ging takes Cheadle out to eat at an international food festival in Swaldani City. / Ging x Cheadle, Cheadle x Pariston x Ging





	Stereo Days

**Author's Note:**

> **Title** : Stereo Days  
>  **Pairing** : Ging x Cheadle x Pariston, Ging x Cheadle  
>  **Word Count** : 2543  
>  **Summary** : After a particularly tiresome meeting, Ging takes Cheadle out to eat at an international food festival in Swaldani City.  
>  **For** : anonymous  
>  **A/N** : NEW CONTENT YOU GUYS!! :D I wrote this _years_ ago for an anonymous request who wanted some ging x cheadle, and I kept it in reserve for a future fic event I was gonna host on my tumblr and then never did. Whoops. Sorry! So here it finally is, and may it eventually find its way back over there someday. The story takes place roughly the summer before Gon takes the Hunter Exam?? It obliquely references _First Ascent_. I hope you enjoy!

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_Stereo Days_

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Cheadle likes the summers in Swaldani City. The weather is warm but not humid, and after the spring rains finally cease the city becomes so pleasant, walkable, and green. And even better, the offices are calm before the preparations for the following Hunter's Exam start to pick up in earnest. Cheadle herself hasn't been on the committee for one in years, but it's an experience she remembers well enough that she isn't eager to repeat it. The start of the season means more meetings, which all of the Zodiac Twelve are present for, and they're going much better than Cheadle or anyone could have predicted.

Really, it both puts her in high spirits and makes her paranoid that the other shoe is about to drop. Even Pariston is behaving, and they have approved both their legislation and the proposals for the Exam without the typical delays and obstructions. At this rate, they'll be finished by the end of the weekend, and when Friday rolls around Cheadle finds that all of the major streets in downtown Swaldani City have been blocked off for some kind of pedestrian festival. It takes her ages to find a parking spot, even with her credentials, and she's a full forty-five minutes late to the start of the meetings. 

She wanders into the conference room to find it nearly half-empty, just one member over quorum with Pariston's sunny smile at the head of the table, prattling on about something and calling for an amendment to whichever proposal they are voting on at that moment. She drops into a chair next to Ging—of course he would be there, and she wrinkles her nose at the creases in his scarf and tabard. Are they the same ones he wore yesterday?

With such a big gap in the center of the table—Botobai and Geru are present, as are Saccho and Saiyuu—Pariston is shouting to be heard, and seated as close as she is, the volume is truly grating. She glances over at Ging again; his eyes are closed. Is he asleep? She glances at the meeting agenda tucked partially under one of his arms, and decides that if he is, he won't be needing it, and tries to inconspicuously slide it free. 

She manages, and studies the agenda while Pariston calls for a vote. She abstains, as does Ging—who, to her mortification, is wide awake and staring at her with barely concealed amusement. She pushes the piece of paper back in his direction, and cringes again when the edges flip up and the paper ends up sliding in an inelegant arc against his arm. 

“Keep it,” he says, and taps the fourth line item from the top. “At this rate, it's like we're running a marathon, and not a meeting.”

At the head of the table, Pariston pouts and settles both hands on his hips. His suit for the day is an aubergine purple, with crisscrossing lines in a contrasting metallic silver. “We're being very economical. But I suppose there's just no pleasing some people.”

“Yeah, Ging,” Saiyuu calls from his position a few seats over, leaning back in his chair. “Some of us would like to have an early lunch.”

“The motion fails to pass,” Pariston announces, and looks over at Ging and Cheadle and shakes his head with a sense of profound disappointment. “At this rate, we'll never get to the budget.”

Cheadle glances at the agenda, at the line item they're currently discussing: _Expansion of Association Headquarters phone operator times by one hour on weekends_. The following line item reads: _Request to install air dryers in Association Headquarters restrooms_. Cheadle can feel a muscle in her jaw begin to twitch. Another half-dozen proposals of similar inconsequence follow. It's rare that they debate anything the least bit engaging—Cheadle remembers her own proposal, several years ago, to expand the medical suite and include a lab for studying and storing rare compounds and conducting more complex tests. She'd had to provide lists of everything she intended to purchase, and document the risks of the infectious diseases she wished to research and the colleagues who would liaise with her across the world. Not that anyone else among the Zodiac Twelve could understand more than the basics of her work—Ging and Geru and Cluck more than the others offered insightful, intelligent opinions, but Pariston held up the debate by inquiring about the added strain on the building's generators and whether or not the Headquarter's medical suite needed to conform to national hospital standards that had nothing to do with the work Cheadle was undertaking in the lab. It was standard practice for the Executive Board—the Zodiac Twelve—to vote on anything that would cost the Association money or change the laws set down in the Association's constitution, but because of their decades of operation and stakes in real estate all over the world, they had more money than they could ever spend in their lifetime, and decisions about _how_ to spend it were, typically, boring. 

Twenty minutes later, and Pariston and Geru are locked in a heated debate.

“Hand dryers are the single most wonderful invention of this century—”

“They are _useless_ , and as someone who wears gloves they are _extra-useless_ —back me up here, Cheadle!”

She glances back towards Pariston, who has his arms spread wide, palms up. “They reduce waste and are energy-efficient—”

From his corner, Saccho adds helpfully, “You know, the paper towels we currently use are made from one-hundred-percent recycled material—”

Saiyuu groans into his folded arms. “Who _cares?_ ”

Finally, Cheadle pipes up. “Why don't we just have both? Everyone.”

Pariston clears his throat. “Raise your placard, Cheadle.”

She does, with a glare at Pariston to rival the sharpness of the sun, and repeats her statement. When Geru calls for a vote, it passes unilaterally, and she seconds Ging's call for an intermission with the strongest feelings of delight. 

“It's an early lunch,” Ging says, “but this way there's a good chance someone else will show up before we reconvene.”

“I agree,” Cheadle replies, gathering her meager belongings—just a few cards and keys shoved into her pockets, since she has no agenda or files of her own from the meeting, having borrowed all of Ging's. “It's almost too much to deal with, listing to him when he's got this much control.” Her face reddens as Ging collects his papers, arranging them back neatly into order. At the end of the room, Pariston converses with Beans, but the moment she looks over he glances back at her, mid-sentence, and shoots her a toothy grin.

“It was worse before you showed up. If you can imagine.”

Her expression shifts into something grim. “I'd rather not.”

“You know, if you didn't have any plans, there's an international food festival in Swaldani City this weekend. Just a few blocks over. I try to go every year—it's the only place I can get some of the food I've enjoyed on my travels. I could show you the best spots.”

“That sounds nice.” She's surprised by just how much she means it.

They make it out to the hallway before another pair of feet catch up to theirs and a purple-clad arm throws itself around Cheadle's shoulders. 

“Friends!” Pariston shoves himself into the space between Cheadle and Ging—something that previously felt as wide as a canyon, but now there is far too little space—and her eyes water at the strength of his cologne. “I thought I might join you on your outing for lunch.”

Ging is silent, and braves the onslaught of Pariston's other arm with taciturn acceptance. Cheadle, for her part, wants to protest, but if Ging was the one who invited her in the first place, she can hardly make alternations to their plans if he doesn't agree. And with his longer legs, as Pariston sets their pace Cheadle finds herself awkwardly marching to keep up.

Cheadle finally shrugs her way out from under his arm after they exit the building, glancing between the two of them to confirm their heading. Pariston still has his right arm around Ging, and squeezes his shoulder once before dropping his arm. Even at this distance, Cheadle can hear the music from the event, blaring loudly several streets over.

“I've heard of this festival, but I've never actually gone myself,” Pariston says, and once more they fall into step.

“The booths are organized by continent, and further so by country or region. It's part farmers market, part international culinary exposition. It's quite popular, and it's why so much of the downtown grid has been closed off.”

Cheadle listens with half an ear as Ging continues to talk, about the history of the event and how, with this being the festival's tenth anniversary, it's been expanded to be even bigger and better than in years past. She doesn't know what she wants to eat, and is fine to leave the decision up to Ging, even if the foods he lauds sound nothing like what she's used to. 

They approach the edge of the festival, the streets cleared of traffic and blocked with barriers, the pavement filled with tents and booths edged in pennants with signs advertising everything from desserts to various hot sauces and marmalades. The crowds thicken almost immediately, and Cheadle can feel Pariston settle his hand against her back again as they walk, carving a space through the crowd and linking them together as they walk down the first pathway.

“So,” Ging asks Pariston, “what do you want to eat?”

“Perhaps just a light snack, for me. What do you recommend?”

“There's a lot of street food that'll fit the bill. And there's fruit stands, down here. We should check those first.” He removes a hand from his pocket to gesture, and Pariston follows suit, to a booth across the pathway heaped high with various fruit. Pariston leans closer to study the prices, before making a show of picking a mango from a basket. 

She wonders why Ging is being so accommodating, but a moment later he takes her by the arm and ducks his head close to her shoulder.

“We're going to lose him at the Padokian corner. Just turn, and follow the back of the booths until you get to the stage. Take a left, and I'll meet you at the corner by the Gaskar Island stand.”

The last is whispered to her as Pariston picks up another mango, holding it to the sky and considering it with a level of earnestness Cheadle wishes he would put towards his political career. Then, Ging returns to his side, pointing towards a fruit stand across the way, and when Pariston replaces the mango and takes a step towards it Cheadle is moving, slipping between two clusters of students and disappearing exactly the way Ging had described.

She isn't waiting two minutes before Ging appears, his posture much more relaxed and the grin on his face much more genuine.

“Now we just have to stay hidden,” he says. That easygoing grin makes his face appear so much younger, and Cheadle finds herself copying the expression. “It's almost like a reverse hunt.”

“Our _Zetsu_ is perfect,” she says. “He won't find us. Ging.”

“Come on. There's some street food from Wacau I think you would like.”

He turns, and heads deeper into the network of booths without turning back, but Cheadle keeps pace with him easily, ducking under pennants and weaving around the people seated at stools around the perimeter of each booth. At one, a thick cloud of steam wafts up from a giant fry pan, and Cheadle almost stops, captivated by the aroma and the distinct unfamiliarity of it. 

Before her, Ging has stopped, and turns to wave her over to a booth that's completely packed, and once more ducks his head to speak closer to her ears. 

“I'll get us something, you wait here.”

She wants to insist otherwise, to offer him money for her share, but then he steps away and pushes himself between two diners to grab the attention of one of the servers. 

When he returns, he offers her a pair of chopsticks, and lifts a bowl nearly overflowing between them. He's only bought the one plate, and she realizes he intends for them to share.

She pokes at it, snagging pieces of meat and soft vegetables as neatly as she can manage. He catches her behavior and laughs.

“Not like that. Just eat. It's good, right? You're supposed to get a little messy.”

That's a hard thing to ask of her, so she only licks her lips and answers his one question. “It's delicious.”

And it is, the kind of food that you want to devour as quickly as you can, hunched over against the countertop while the steam from the fry pan rises around your face. And Ging eats with gusto, uncaring if his chopsticks knock against hers or if he takes too much in one mouthful. So, after a pause, she tries to copy him, and finds the flavor is even better when she slurps her noodles just a bit more than she'd ever normally allow. And when the level of food in the bowl drops to the dregs, she looks back up at Ging and cannot help the bubble of laughter that escapes her.

He drops his chopsticks into the bowl and looks down at her. “What is it?”

She taps the side of her cheek. “You have something...” She reaches out, before realizing that her fingers are gloved, and she cannot touch him. She withdraws, suddenly sullen again, and Ging reaches up to wipe the fleck of sauce from his cheek himself. 

A strange silence falls between them, and Cheadle is not sure how to recapture that lost mood. She is about to suggest they try another dish when she's startled by a loud beeping noise. Ging reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone, checking it with one hand and returning it just as quickly.

“The meeting's about to start up again. We should head back.” 

They return the bowl, and take a different path back to the Association headquarters building. Once inside, they see a few new faces seated around the table—Piyon has arrived, and Kanzai beside her, but Cheadle's side of the table remains mostly empty. Still, Ging settles into place by her side, and when Cheadle catches sight of Pariston, raising an eyebrow at her from the other end of the room, she turns away quickly, and finds herself once more caught up in Ging.

“You know, the festival runs for three more days. Our meetings should last that long, too,” he says, once more unfolding and placing the day's agenda before her. “We should get lunch together again. I can show you something different tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” she says, thinking about a stand she'd passed, serving cuisine from a country she'd been to once as a relief doctor, many years ago, that she thought she'd never get to have again. Maybe there was something she could show him, too. Or they could get lost there, together, and try something new. “I'd like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) _Stereo_ refers in this context to using two or more independent audio channels through a configuration of two or more loudspeakers in such a way as to create the impression of sound heard from various directions, as in natural hearing (Wikipedia). It's a metaphor, or something.
> 
> 2) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your comments.


End file.
